


Graphic design is my passion

by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Louis Tomlinson, Blow Jobs, Dildos, History Student Harry Styles, I think that’s what it is lol, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Smut, they watch each other jerk off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullOnLarrie/pseuds/kingsofeverything
Summary: Graphic design student Louis Tomlinson has exams to study for and final art projects to complete, if it would stop raining long enough for him to walk across campus. Luckily Harry Styles has an umbrella, and he’s perfectly willing to share.Louis doesn’t plan to get his heart broken and he doesn’t plan to make almost a hundred silicone dildos. One of these things definitely happens.





	Graphic design is my passion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homosociallyyours](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosociallyyours/gifts).



> Wrote this based off the next to last prompt on [this post](http://homosociallyyours.tumblr.com/post/182734657494/all-those-sex-toy-prompts-you-probably-didnt-need) that Megan reblogged. So Megan, this is for you!
> 
> Thank you to [Nic](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com) as always! <3
> 
> Fic post is [here](http://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/184304514885/graphic-design-is-my-passion-by-fullonlarrie) and I'll love it if you reblog <3

♥

“Fuck!” Louis dodges the woman with an umbrella and a raincoat going the opposite way and sprints down the flooding sidewalk. It was sunny when he got out of bed that morning, but as the day wore on, the clouds slowly rolled in, and now he’s running towards the covered walkway in front of the library. His sneakers squelch and water pours out of the vents on the sides when he steps beneath the overhang and leans up against the dry brick side of the building. Louis’ chest heaves and he pulls off his windbreaker, shaking it out and wrapping it around his bag; he’ll get soaked, but hopefully he can keep it’s contents somewhat dry. 

His track pants are dripping wet and clinging to his legs, so it’ll be an uncomfortable run, but he can change once he’s at the art building. Louis pushes off the wall and immediately moves to the left to stay under the covered part of the sidewalk. The rain isn’t letting up. 

“Hey, Louis, right?” Louis turns at the familiar voice. “Harry. Niall’s roommate.” Harry extends his hand to shake Louis’ and Louis just nods for a few seconds before he catches on. Harry. Niall’s roommate. Niall’s freshman roommate. A virtual infant standing in front of Louis wearing what looks like the softest, most comfortable black hooded sweatshirt, loose black shorts, bright white running shoes splattered with mud and socks pulled up too high. 

And he has an umbrella. Maybe Louis can sweet talk him into giving it up. 

Tipping his head towards the library, Louis says, “Studying?”

“Yeah. Well, no, not really.” Harry shakes his head, fighting a crooked grin. “I’m studying, but not here. Just had to get a book.” He pats at his backpack and spins his closed umbrella by the handle. 

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Louis bites his lip and looks out into the gloom. He shifts his bag in his arms, readying himself to dart out into the bad weather. 

“Hey, so… How ’bout you?” Harry asks and Louis stops, adjusting his grip on his bag. “Are you studying?”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah. Got a math exam and an art history exam tomorrow, but also like, a sculpture project and a drawing final due. So I’m planning to spend most of the night in the studio. I’ll just study there, I guess.”

“Oh, would—” Harry coughs into his fist and looks away. “Never mind.”

“What?” 

“Just… I was going to ask if it would be okay if I came with you. You know, and studied. I wasn’t thinking. Sorry. If you wanted a study partner, you’d have one, I—”

Louis stops him with his hand over Harry’s mouth, then lowers it down. “For someone who talks fairly slowly, you sure don’t make it easy to interrupt you.”

“Sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine. Normally, I’m sure it’s charming, but…” Louis looks out at the rain again. “Walk and talk. Under the umbrella, of course.”

Harry looks him over before opening his umbrella and stepping closer to Louis, who holds his bag tightly in one arm, hooks his other hand around Harry’s elbow, and leads him into the rain. 

“I don’t know what you’re studying for, but I could definitely use your help.” Louis looks over Harry’s profile, the slope of his nose and the jut of his chin and the sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline. He’ll be perfect. “I have to do a portrait for my drawing final, and I thought I’d have to settle for a self-portrait, but that’s not really what we’re supposed to do. It’s meant to be someone in a natural setting. Whatever that means. Probably that there’ll be a lot of drawings of people studying.”

“Oh, um… Okay. I was actually thinking we’d help each other with math, but whatever you—”

“What math are you in?”

“I’m, um…” Harry tightens his grip on the umbrella handle and Louis watches the tendons on the back of his hand move. “I’m in your class. I sit in the back. You always come in late and sit by the door.”

“Yeah, I…” Gently, Louis elbows him. “You should’ve said something. Didn’t know you were in that class. Could’ve sat together or bothered you for notes or something.”

Harry steers them around a deep puddle, but they still get wet, and at this point Louis has given up hope for his shoes anyway, so he slogs on, leading Harry around to the back of the art building to a basement entrance, where the door is propped open with a broken brick. Once they’re inside, Louis steps away from Harry and lets him close his umbrella, turning away so that Harry can’t watch him adjust himself in his wet track pants. 

With Harry at his heels, he heads down the hall, swinging through the doorway to the little locker room, which is really just a closet with a bunch of cubby holes and bins and baskets. Louis keeps his painting clothes there—an old pair of grey sweatpants, thin and splattered with paint, a stretched out black tank top, and the beanie he started wearing after the first time he got clay in his hair. He yanks his wet shirt off and tries to use it to dry his hair a bit, but it’s useless, so he drops it on the floor, shakes his dry sweatpants, and says, “Gotta change. These are soaked.” 

Without turning around, Louis peels off his wet track pants and boxers, kicking them into a pile with his wet shirt, and stepping into his grey sweatpants. Miraculously, he doesn’t stumble, and manages to pull his sweatpants up, hopefully without Harry seeing his ass. He peers over his shoulder, finds Harry facing away with his hands covering his eyes, and can’t help but laugh. 

“It’s safe to look now.” Louis slips his arms into his tank top, pulls his beanie over his hair, bends down to pick up his wet clothes and shoes from the floor, and carries them past Harry, who blinks owlishly before following and hurrying to catch up. 

“You’re barefoot.”

“I am.” Louis looks down at his feet to confirm that he is, indeed. 

“As long as you’re aware.”

“I’m aware.” Louis backs into the door, pushing it open and flipping on the lights. There are lines strung across the high ceiling, clothespins everywhere, and the occasional drawing hanging from them. Louis weaves his way to the back table where he prefers to work, and drops his bag. With his clothes draped over his arm, he walks to the nearest empty line and hangs his track pants, shirt, and windbreaker over top. After a second’s hesitation, he tosses his boxers over and clips them up. At least they’re clean and hopefully they’ll be dry by the time he heads home. 

Louis turns to find Harry behind him, quietly watching and standing off to the side as if he’s afraid he’ll accidentally touch something. He still has his hood up, hands stuffed into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, but his umbrella is leaning against the wall in the corner. Even with his umbrella, he’s still gotten rained on, and there’s a single wet curl in the middle of his forehead. He looks like Superman. 

“You can hang your stuff up if it’s wet.” Louis carries his shoes over to the corner where he sets them in front of a little fan and turns it on. Should be far enough from him that it won’t blow his paper around. When he stands, Harry’s right behind him with his sneakers in his hands.

“Thanks.” Harry carefully places his shoes beside Louis’ and follows him back across the room. Getting his things together distracts him from Harry long enough that he misses Harry removing his sweatshirt and laying it over the back of one of the chairs. “It’s not wet, really. Just, I’m a little warm.”

Louis watches him carefully, while Harry unzips his bag and pulls out his math book, and Louis groans, opening his own bag and dropping his book and notebook on the table. He drags a stool over with the toe of his shoe, and sits down. “Fine. Let’s get the math out of the way.”

It’s not hard to do math the way Harry does it. Or maybe Louis just hasn’t paid attention well enough until Harry started reading out the problems and writing them down, talking himself—and Louis—through every step. 

“Tell me about your sculpture project,” Harry whispers even though they’re alone. The tops of his ears are pink, his cheeks too, and Louis grins.

“Well, first of all my sculpture professor is a dick. Everything he makes is a breast or a nipple.”

“Everything?” Harry raises his eyebrows. 

“Everything.” Louis nods once. “But so, he gave us our final and I have _‘forty-eight hours to conceive of and execute our final sculpture project which must be made of any material other than clay,’_ and I’ve got to come up with something that’ll bring my grade up or at least not drop it any lower than it already is.”

“So are you going to sculpt a nipple out of ice?”

Louis snorts and shakes his head and they don’t say much else until they pack their math books away.

“We’ve never really hung out before.” Louis flips to a blank page in his sketchbook and taps his pencil against the paper. “You and Niall are friends, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. ’Course.” Harry hops off of his stool, reaches for his sweatshirt, and pulls it over his head. He combs his fingers through his still damp hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “I, um, well, I usually hang out with him one on one. Figured you guys wouldn’t want a freshman following you around.”

“What kind of high school bullshit?” Louis scoffs, even though that’s precisely why he’s made himself scarce whenever Harry’s been around. He’s hot, gay, and way too young for Louis to let him break his heart. “You’re always welcome, Harold. You’re eighteen. Legally an adult and all that. We can be friends.”

“Nineteen, actually. I turned nineteen in February.” Harry bites his lower lip and hops up backwards onto the table, bends his knees and crosses his legs. He nods towards Louis’ sketchbook. “So I can just study and you’ll draw me? Like one of your French girls?” Harry raises his eyebrows, but can’t keep a straight face, snorting before Louis can even respond.

“Exactly. Like, just don’t move too much.” 

“Can I talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” Louis glances up, then back down at his paper and gets to work.

Despite asking, Harry doesn’t say anything at first. He sits with his legs crossed, book balanced between them, and Louis sort of loses track of time until Harry says, “Need to walk around a bit. My legs are stiff.”

He jumps down off the table and Louis tries not to stare at his bare lower back as he stretches his arms overhead, walking to the back of the room in his sock feet. Louis watches him on his return, searching for something to say because he’s pretty much done with drawing Harry, at least enough for his portrait for his final. But he wants him to hang around a little longer.

“I was thinking about your sculpture,” Harry says.

“You’re supposed to be thinking about that history book you were reading,” Louis teases.

“Yeah, well…” Harry picks up the book and slides it back into his bag. “I was just thinking it’d be funny to make a giant penis or something.”

Louis cackles and covers his mouth with his hand. “Doubt I’d get away with anything like that.”

“Nah, I mean, you said he makes everything look like boobs, right? So…” Harry rummages around in his bag and pulls out another book. “I’m saying it’d be kind of a statement? Like, boobs are lovely, but when all of your art is basically just naked women, what are you saying? I don’t know. Doubt there are a bunch of women out there nonstop making dick sculptures.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” 

Harry circles the room, stretching his legs, then hops back up onto the table. He opens his book, but instead of looking down at it in his lap, he points to Louis’ sketch and asks, “Can I see?”

“Um…” Louis rubs at his eyes with his knuckles. “Can you wait until it’s done? Like, I’m not sure it even looks like you. At least, not yet. Charcoal isn’t really my favorite medium.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods and sucks his lower lip into his mouth, watching Louis for a second. “Not your favorite medium?”

“Right.” Louis lets out a short laugh. “Sketching portraits isn’t really my thing, I guess? Most of what I do is digital. Not a lot of mess.” Wiggling his fingers to show Harry the smudges already marring his skin, Louis waits for Harry’s smile before looking back down at his paper. “I’m majoring in graphic design.”

Harry closes his book again, even though he just opened it and there’s no way he’s read a word. He catches Louis’ eye and smirks. “Are you telling me that graphic design is your passion, Louis?”

Rolling his eyes, Louis can’t help but smile. “Yes, Harry, graphic design _is_ my passion.”

Harry laughs loudly and it echoes around the large, empty studio. If Louis could sketch that, he would. Instead he bites his lip and shakes his head and blends the line of Harry’s brow on his paper.

“I’m serious, you know.” Harry clears his throat. “About your sculpture project. I’ll help.”

“What? With the dicks?” 

“Well, I meant with whatever you decided to do. But yeah, if you need a dick, I do have one.”

Louis snorts. 

“For real though, what are your material options for the project?” Harry asks, but almost immediately opens his book and focuses on it. 

“Um… Anything but clay. So, like, readily available there’s wax, ice, mud, plastic… I guess metal? And, um… silicone.” 

Harry’s head whips up. “Silicone, seriously? And you’re not making dicks?”

“What? It’s like a powder. It’s neat though. We made forms, like masks? Mixed the silicone, poured it into the forms, and a little while later, we had creepy lifelike masks.”

“All I hear you saying is that you can make a form shaped like a dick and make a silicone dildo.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry.” Louis wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “This is why we don’t hang out.”

“Oh, um…” Harry turns away, biting his lip. “Sorry. I thought… I was just… I didn’t mean to like, gross you out or like bother you. Sorry. I’m sorry—”

“No, Harry. Stop.” Louis reaches out and pats Harry’s knee, looking up at him from his stool. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you’re going to get me in trouble. That’s all.”

Harry looks down at him from his perch on the table. “So you’re fine with me trying to convince you to make a bunch of dildos and turn it in for a grade?”

“I listen to this guy talk about boobs nonstop. I welcome the change of subject. Now, be still.” 

“Yes, sir.” Harry smirks and opens his book again, lips moving silently as he studies. 

♥

“Coffee?” Louis asks, covering his drawing with another sheet of paper. “I need something or I’ll fall asleep.”

“Need to get your blood flowing. Should like, do some jumping jacks.”

Louis stands up and stretches his arms overhead. It’s tiring just sitting for so long. “Coffee _and_ jumping jacks?”

“Well, okay. But not at the same time.” Harry hops off the table and shakes out his limbs. He tilts his head to the side, combing his fingers through his hair, and Louis wonders if it’s a nervous habit that he’s picked up since cutting it short or if he’s used to playing with his long curls and he misses them. “I can run to Krispy Kreme if you want.”

“Nah.”

“You sure? Could work on your sculpture. If you need privacy.” Harry winks obnoxiously and Louis elbows him in the side. 

“Maybe I’ll reward myself with a lemon-filled glazed donut after I finish _something.”_

Harry pulls off his sweatshirt again and tosses it on the next table. “Is the portrait going to take much longer?” 

“Oh!” Louis huffs a laugh through his nose. “No, um… I’m not sure. Like I said, I don’t usually draw like that, so… I mean, if you need to go—”

“No, no. I’m fine. So… Coffee?” Harry bites his lower lip and Louis looks towards the door.

“This way.” He leads Harry down the hall to the closet that they call a kitchen at the end. It’s tiny. So small that Harry stands outside the door, leaning his shoulder against the jamb. Bending at the waist, Louis reaches into the cabinet under the sink and stands back up with the contraband coffee maker that most definitely has never been seen by any of the faculty. He points at the mini fridge. “There might be like, soy milk or something, and I think there’s powdered creamer and sugar up there.” Louis jerks his thumb over his shoulder and watches as Harry leans in through the doorway.

He smells like rain and fabric softener and when Harry steps into the room completely, Louis can feel his body heat along his back where he stands, hips pressed into the edge of the countertop, scooping coffee into the filter. Harry clears his throat and when he speaks, his voice is low and just inches from Louis’ ear. “Will you, um… move to the left a little?”

Louis nods and takes a step sideways, then Harry’s warm hands land gently on his hips, stopping him and shifting him in the other direction. They take their warmth with them when Harry lets go, leaving Louis acutely aware of his handprints where they were. “Right. The left.” 

“You want sugar?”

“Normally, no. But I have to stay awake.” Louis starts the coffee and turns in place, watching Harry. His plain white t-shirt is too short and Louis has already been treated to glimpse after glimpse of his back, but when he reaches up to open the cabinet and his shirt rides up, his shorts slip down a bit, and Louis finds it almost impossible to look away from the trail of hair below his belly button. He makes himself stare at the coffee as it drips into the pot. “There are mugs up there, too.”

While they wait for the coffee to brew, Louis shows Harry the sculpture studio. The first words out of Harry’s mouth are, “Where do we make the dicks?”

Louis tries to smack him in the arm, but Harry takes a step backwards. Shaking his head, Louis says, “Not that I’m like, one hundred percent opposed to your grand plan of world domination by covering it with dildos, but how do you propose that we even do that?” 

“World _dildo_ mination!” Harry snorts and slaps his knee and it’s fucking adorable.

“I mean, you’d need to like, have an um… erection to make a form like that.” Louis giggles, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sitting here thinking about pissing off Professor Breast-Obsessed isn’t exactly getting me hard.” 

Harry sucks in a breath and when Louis turns to look at him, his cheeks are pink and he’s watching Louis warily. “I… Are you really thinking about doing it? Do you think he’ll fail you?”

“Maybe? He might, but like… What if I title it ‘Objectification’ or something like that. Say it’s a comment on how so much art by male artists is of the naked female form.”

“He could still fail you.”

“I’d appeal.”

“You’re serious?” 

Louis nods. “I mean, in theory. If I made a bunch of dildos and what? Built a giant nipple out of them?”

Harry gasps, slapping his hands to his cheeks dramatically. “Make like, a whole breast. Like, a disembodied breast.”

“I…” Louis’ eyes dart around the room. The process of making the molds of their faces was messy and incredibly time consuming, but dildos might be different. It’s not like his dick needs to breathe. It just needs to be hard. And to do something like that and get it done tonight, he probably needs to try to make as many forms as he can. So he needs to be able to get hard and stay hard, but not come for… Louis pulls out his phone and opens the calculator. It takes about two minutes to set the mold. With the number of forms available and the amount of material available, he could make two dozen. That seems ambitious. A flush rises up his chest. “I don’t think…”

“Tell me, um… Like, walk me through what it’d be…” Harry’s neck turns a brighter pink than his lips. “Tell me what we’d have to do.”

“Well, the forms kind of look like Pringle’s cans.” The entire time Louis is explaining the different steps of the process and what they’d have to do and where they’d have to do it, he’s positive he’s going to spontaneously combust. He takes comfort in the knowledge that he’s not the only one struggling. The thin material of Harry’s black shorts clings to him and Louis finds it nearly impossible to keep from staring. 

Harry nods and says, “I’m in.”

Louis nods and resigns himself to another broken heart in the near future. 

♥

After drinking their coffee, they set up the two dozen forms in a row down one of the work benches, Louis measures out the plaster into disposable cups, fills an empty plastic jug with hot water from the tap, and grabs a measuring cup, sticking a handful of paint stirrers in it. 

“Do you want me to go first?” Louis asks and when Harry meets his eyes, Louis can’t look away. “Or you could go first?”

“We could do it at the same time.” 

“There’s only one changing room.”

“Louis, it’s two thin shower curtains hanging from the ceiling in the corner. I’d honestly rather you were in there with me than out here listening.”

“Someone has to mix the plaster though.”

“I think we can handle it. Just…” Harry takes a deep breath and blows it out, making that one loose curl flutter on his forehead. “You should know, like, before we… I like you. I—”

“You _like_ me.”

“I mean, yeah.” Harry crosses his arms tightly over his chest and looks down, rubbing one his socked feet in an arc across the hard concrete floor. “I wanted to be honest, so like, you know that I’ve had a crush on you since I met you.”

“Do you mean like, you want to date me?”

Harry looks up. “Yes.”

“Like, you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Yes, Louis. God.” Harry uncrosses his arms, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt. “It’s fine. I can like, help you with this project or, I mean, if you’re uncomfortable I can go, it’s—”

Louis grabs Harry’s wrists and he stops stretching the fabric of his shirt and lets it go. Leaning in and nudging their foreheads together, Louis whispers, “Stay.”

Tilting his head up, Harry captures Louis’ lips in a kiss, pressing forward but not attempting to loosen Louis’ hold on his wrists. He pulls back and says, “So I guess we jerk off behind the curtain together?”

Louis snorts. “How’s that for a first date?”

Biting his lip, Harry shakes his head. “Let’s go out after finals. I’ve got history in the morning, but math is my last exam this semester.”

“I have to present my sculpture day after tomorrow. Turn my drawing in as soon as I finish it. Have an art history exam right after math tomorrow.”

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “Meet me at six? At Krispy Kreme?”

“Yeah.” Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Is this going to be too weird?”

“I mean, it’ll be weird. I don’t know about _too_ weird, but… So it’s uhh… an unconventional start. But like, as long as we’re being honest, you’re like super hot and I definitely want to fuck you, um… eventually. Like, I don’t mind waiting, even with this whole…” Harry circles his hand in the air as if to encompass the entire dildo sculpture idea. 

“Okay. Let’s do it.” 

Thankfully, neither of them are wearing jeans. They disappear behind the curtain and Louis starts giggling uncontrollably. 

Harry knocks his knee against Louis’ and says, “Should we be like, all business here or what?”

“Fuck. Okay.” Louis closes his eyes. “I think we should try to do this without, um… Like, it’s probably best if we don’t, um… touch each other. Plausible deniability?”

“Yeah, makes sense.” Harry steps up close and cups Louis’ face in his hands, tipping his head and bringing their lips together and stealing the breath from Louis’ lungs. He pulls back, dropping his hands to Louis’ waist, tilting his head the other way, and tracing the seam of Louis’ lips with his tongue while he bumps their hips together. It’s probably his imagination, but Louis swears he can feel the outline of Harry’s cock where it presses against him. 

Harry lets him go and takes a couple of steps back, holding his hands up, palms out. “Okay. No touching.”

After a deep breath, Louis clears his throat, slipping his thumbs under the waistband of his sweatpants. “On three?”

“Three,” Harry says, folding the front of his waistband down and pulling on the drawstring of his shorts.

“Two,” Louis says and stretches the elastic waist at the side of his sweatpants.

“One,” they say it together, keeping their gazes locked as they push their pants down. 

Neither of them are fully hard, but they’re both about halfway there, and Louis can feel his blood rush to his cock the second he glances down to see Harry’s loose fist as he strokes himself. They watch each other, Louis looking from Harry’s face to his cock and back again. Studying the slight pout of his lower lip, the furrow in his brow, the pink splotches of color on his cheeks, and the practiced, assured way he moves his hand, thumbing at the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, squeezing around the base of his dick, sliding his other hand over his stomach, rucking up his t-shirt and blatantly looking Louis up and down. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Holy shit. Okay.” Louis bites his lower lip hard and forces his hand away from his cock, pulling his sweatpants over his erection with a hiss. He waits for Harry to do the same, sighing quietly when he’s covered again and pulling the curtain aside. He fills the measuring cup with water, pours it into two of the Solo cups, drops a stirring stick in each one, and opens the timer on his phone. “Two minutes.”

They mix the plaster as quickly as possible, breaking up lumps until it’s like too-smooth pancake batter, pouring it into the cardboard form, and tossing the stirring stick into the trash on the way back behind the curtains. With the form in one hand, Louis pulls the curtains closed, then pulls the front of his sweatpants down. 

He wraps his hand around the base, squeezing a few times and jerking himself quickly, watching Harry as he matches every move he makes. When Louis licks his lower lip, Harry does the same, and Louis moans quietly, making himself stop again. He checks the timer. “One minute.”

“Fuck.” Harry pushes his pants down further, leans forward and rests one hand against the wall, maneuvering his dick into the cylindrical form full of wet plaster. Louis hurries to do the same and they stand there, trying to keep their dicks from bumping into the walls of the form, trying to keep from spilling plaster on the floor, trying not to pass out as the sheer ridiculousness of the situation hits him. But there isn’t really time for him to worry before the alarm on his phone goes off and they’re pulling their dicks out of the first forms, still mostly hard. 

It takes them about an hour total to make twenty-four molds of their dicks, a dozen each, and by the time they finish, Louis feels like if he doesn’t come soon he’ll cry. They peel the last two forms from their dicks, pull their pants up, and carry them out to set them on the table with the rest. Except this time they don’t have to immediately mix more and make another one. 

Louis pours what’s left of the warm water onto two clean rags and tosses one to Harry. He takes a step towards the curtained off corner. “I’m gonna… Need to make sure I got all that stuff off.”

“Yeah, me too.” Harry strides across the room, following Louis behind the curtain. 

Keeping his eyes on Harry’s trapped erection, Louis pushes the waist of his sweatpants down below his balls, getting his hand around his cock and forcing himself to focus on the damp cloth in his hand. He watches, open mouthed, as Harry slips his hand inside his pants, stroking himself even as he’s pushing his shorts down with his other hand. The material for the mold wipes off easily—somehow Harry makes even that look hot—and Louis throws the towel into the corner with Harry’s. 

The anticipation of finally orgasming after having to stave it off—basically edging himself for an hour has him trembling. Harry steps closer, drawing Louis’ gaze down when he tugs on his own balls, and before he can think about it and change his mind, Louis lowers himself to his knees.

“Lou, oh my god.” Harry inhales sharply when Louis flicks his tongue out against the tip of his cock, and Louis watches him bite down on his knuckle when he sinks down, feeling the underside of his dick pulse against his tongue as he presses upwards. As much as Louis would like to take his time, suck Harry’s cock until his jaw aches, they shouldn’t even be doing this. The risk of getting caught makes his dick twitch and Louis tightens his hand around it, jerking himself, working to get them both off quickly. Louis pulls back, licking messily along the shaft and sucking on the head, making Harry gasp, his hand coming to rest on top of Louis’ head. 

With a quiet moan, Louis nudges Harry’s hand with his head before taking him back into his mouth. Harry combs his fingers through Louis’ hair, tightening his grip when Louis pushes himself down until his nose brushes the soft curls of Harry’s pubic hair. His hips stutter and Louis pulls off, gagging slightly, and Harry grunts, mouth falling open as his orgasm seems to take him by surprise. The first drops of come splatter on Louis’ cheek, and he sucks Harry’s cock back into his mouth, swallowing what he can, before he lets it slip from between his lips as his own orgasm takes hold. He manages to catch it all in his hand, resting his forehead against Harry’s trembling thigh for a moment before Harry reaches down and helps him to his feet, pulling off his t-shirt and wiping him clean. 

Harry bites his lip, leaning down and kissing the side of Louis’ neck. “So… Dildos?”

“Yep.” Louis laughs and pushes Harry’s chest. “Let’s do this.”

They mix the silicone and fill the molds, and Louis sets the timer on his phone for one hour. There’s no way he’ll make enough dicks to build anything of significant size with what they’ll have, but he can figure that out once the first batch is done. Louis sighs, leading Harry back down the hall. Harry immediately climbs back onto the table, opens his book, and it’s as if the last few hours never happened. 

Louis goes back to his drawing of Harry, even though he’s probably done more than enough for his grade, and Harry opens his history book, silently mouthing the words as he reads. While he should tell Harry that he can leave, to go get some sleep, Louis can’t help but want him to stick around a little longer. It’s been a while since he’s really liked someone like this, but it never works out. Four boyfriends he’s had in four years and every one of them broke his heart. 

Harry falls asleep when Louis goes to check on the second batch of silicone dicks. Harry refuses to get up and go to his dorm, insisting that he’s fine where he is, so Louis doesn’t argue. 

When the alarm goes off for the fourth batch, Louis wakes up face down on the table in an empty room. 

He sighs. At least for time being, he’s too tired to be brokenhearted. 

The last twenty-four silicone dicks join the other seventy-two in the cardboard box he found to hold them. Louis folds it closed and hefts it in his arms, resting it on one hip while he carries his rolled up portrait of Harry in the other. He kicks the brick out of the doorway when he leaves the building, trudging to his dorm to sleep for a few hours. 

When Louis wakes up from his nap, he forces himself to shower immediately, then he dresses and heads back to the art building with his ninety-six dildos. He’s only worked with metal a few times and the torch scares the shit out of him, but he’s got to do _something,_ so he spends the next few hours bending metal and welding it together. His advisor stops by when he’s cleaning up and is more than willing to allow Louis to store his sculpture project in her office. He’s unsuccessful when he tries to slip the portrait for his drawing final past her into the pile the other students have made. 

“Beautiful, Louis.”

Louis shakes his head. 

“I know you don’t care for the mess, but that doesn’t mean it’s not well done.” She shakes the paper slightly. “What did he think?”

“He hasn’t seen it.” 

“Oh, well.” She lays it on top of the stack of drawings. “I’m sure he’ll think it’s lovely.”

Louis shrugs, eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. “Shit. I’m late.”

He sprints all the way to the business building where his math class is, catching the door just before it closes, and sliding into the first empty seat he sees. His eyes are immediately drawn to Harry, who is staring down at his test, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Louis focuses on the exam, working each problem carefully, silently mouthing the steps to himself as he does them. When he finishes, he starts at the beginning, double checking his answers. 

“May I have your attention?” Their math professor clears his throat and says, “You’re welcome to stay if you’re not finished. But you should know that it’s four o’clock, so if you have anything else scheduled—” 

Louis doesn’t hear anything else, already on his feet, handing in the final and dashing out the door, down the corridor to the stairs. He sprints across campus to the history building, arriving a few minutes late. But his professor is lenient and lets him in without question. 

By the time Louis finishes his last history essay, he’s exhausted. He unlocks his dorm and falls straight onto his mattress, not even taking off his shoes. He sleeps until the following morning when Zayn wakes him up. 

His sculpture is due to be presented at eleven o’clock and he thinks he does okay. A handful of other professors, including his advisor, asked to sit in on the presentations, and Louis is positive that’s the only reason he makes it out alive. His handmade cage full of penises actually goes over well and his sculpture professor is left with no other choice but to pass him. 

Before he grabs lunch, Louis swings by the gallery. He promised his advisor he’d stop and check out the exhibited drawings and now is as good a time as any. It’s called a gallery, but it’s really just a small room with white walls and clear glass dividers that allow them to display art while making the room seem larger. 

Louis walks over to the far wall, his cheeks heating the closer he gets. He should’ve known she’d hang Harry as the one example of his work from her class this year, even though he had a perfectly acceptable self portrait and also a bowl of fruit that looked pretty realistic. He steps closer, fighting the urge to rip it down and run away. 

“It’s beautiful,” Harry says, voice right behind him. Louis spins around. “I mean, not me. I’m not saying I’m— I just— You drew me, but you… You made it beautiful.”

“Why are you here?”

“You didn’t meet me for donuts yesterday.” Harry shrugs, looking down at his feet. “Thought I’d ask why. Niall said you were probably here.”

“I… I was asleep. But that doesn’t matter. You, um… You disappeared on me, so…”

“I left you a note! I had my history exam.” 

“You didn’t leave a note.”

“I did. With your charcoal pencil. On your arm. I wrote ‘see you at 6 - Harry’ right here.” Harry reaches out and grabs Louis’ hand, lifting it and rubbing his fingertips over the clean skin of Louis’ forearm. 

“You… Oh. I washed it off.” Louis looks at his arm as if that will make the words appear. “I didn’t even see it.” 

“Sorry. That was kind of stupid of me.”

“No. It was sweet.” Louis shakes his head. “I think we were both just tired, maybe.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, stepping closer and touching Louis’ arm again, sliding his hand down and lacing their fingers together. “You want to get lunch with me?”

Louis nods and swings their linked hands, crinkling his nose. “This what we do now?”

“That and like, kissing and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Louis cocks an eyebrow and Harry squeezes his eyes shut. 

“You know. Stuff. I’ve got some time tonight. We could work on um, world _dildo_ mination.”

Covering his face with both hands, Louis sighs. He peeks out from between his fingers, watching Harry’s grin spread across his face. When both dimples are deep enough, Louis drops his hands. “Lunch first. World _dildo_ mination can come later.”

Harry throws his head back, cackling at the ceiling, and it takes Louis a few seconds to realize what he said. By then Harry’s wheezing, “Come… Later…” 

Louis rolls his eyes and shoves his shoulder hard. “You’ll be lucky to come at all. Let’s go. I’m hungry.” He yanks Harry’s hand, leading him out of the gallery, and into the sunlight. 

♥


End file.
